Peril, Risk and Hazard
by suallenparker
Summary: Five years ago, Mac Taylor had been dead. This morning he had wished he d still been. Smacked-romance full of peril risk and hazard
1. Peril

**Peril, Risk and Hazard**

Disclaimer: I don´t own CSI:NY

Spoiler: None

Rating: T

Summary: Five years ago, Mac Taylor had been dead. This morning he had wished he´d still been.

Feedback: Please.

Dedication: This story is for the gorgeous lily moonlight. Thanks for being such a great beta and for teaching me the word peril. I still love the sound of that word and I hope you enjoy that tiny story about Mac in peril, risk and hazard!

Special thanks to banana tooth for correcting all my grammar/spelling-mistakes (She jumped in as my Beta because I couldn´t ask lily moonlight to beta it because I wanted it to be a surprise for her, I hope I succeeded at least in the surprising part! xD) and to MrAprilfoolsWatanuki and Di-Bee for their thoughts, comments and suggestions to this story as well for all the great support they gave me during I wrote this story. Since I was extra-insecure about this story, they all, especially Di-Bee and MrAprilfoolsWatanuki had a lot encouraging to do. Thanks so much, guys. Without the three of you this gift for lily moonlight would´ve never seen the light of ! xD

* * *

_**Peril**_

Five years ago, Mac Taylor had been dead. This morning he had wished he´d still been.

Everything had started out normal, just another usual day in his city. After their night shift had been over he and Stella had had breakfast together in their favorite bistro right around the corner from their office. He had invited her there, hoping the blueberry cupcakes they sold there would conjure a smile on her face like they always did before. They had just settled down at one of the tiny tables in front of the great windows, as a sudden foreboding of close peril had sent goosebumps down his spine.

And then everything had hurt.

His ears because of the loud bang of a fired weapon, his head from the hard crash to the ground, his entire body under the weight of Stella which pressed him to the ground and his heart as he had noticed the fresh blood pouring out of a small shot wound at Stella's left shoulder, soaking her favorite blouse and dripping down on him.

But five years ago, he had been dead.

Today the sinking sun outside his window colored his living room orange, the natural dying light working as a high contrast to the cold white-shining light of his blank computer screen in front of him. Uneasily Mac shifted on his chair behind his big wood desk as the memories hit him. Those lucky times... A false smile tugged at the right corner of his mouth.

Five years ago, right after he had lost Claire, he had been dead.

His body had been alive back then. He had eaten, even if only casually but eaten still, he had slept, most times short dreamless times of rest his body had demanded and taken from him without further asking, causing him to fall asleep behind his desk, his brain still focusing on his work and his work only, even in his sleep desperately trying to shield him from his emotions.

So yes, his body had been alive but his soul for sure had been dead. It had been a really slow death though. It had taken him nearly one month to let himself decease. The two days after his loss he had been to shocked to feel anything but on the third day, right after Mac had opened his eyes on that morning because the shining sun refused to let him sleep any longer and his usual first look at the other half of their bed had told him that Claire had been missing, the pain hit him, pressed him strongly into the mattress like it wanted to drown him in the softness of his pillow which suddenly felt so wrong to him.

How could anything still be soft since Claire died? The warm touch of the morning sun which tickled his skin had seemed to taunt him.

One hour later, as he had finally managed to get out of bed, Mac had started to kill himself while he washed his hair under the shower. The following three months he had worked on murdering himself, burying himself beneath transcendent walls of nihilism. He had worked like a man possessed, had kept his whole being busy with work, had numbed himself with the problems of strangers in the desperate attempt to kill the insufferable nameless ache which had kept his heart in a strong grip and had blasted from there through his whole body.

Early November Mac had observed with cursory interest how his body had been threatened by a mean-looking tall guy around his forties who had pointed a gun at his head and harshly told him he would shoot him within seconds if he would only think of trying to move.

Now, sitting the safety of his living room and trying to write the report he had avoided all day, Mac remembered that strange sort of satisfaction which had floated through him as he had asserted that he didn´t care if he would survive that confrontation or if that stranger would shoot him. The knowledge that his body, all that seemed to be left of him, had been in peril hadn´t bothered him in the slightest, hadn´t even impressed him to be honest. He couldn´t even recall how exactly that scenario had ended. All that had mattered to him had been that feeling of finally being free of any emotions. That he had been cold as a fish.

Cold as a fish... Before Claire had died, he had never thought the idea of mastering that metaphor could be desirable.

Of course, that had been before his argument with Stella. She had brought him back to life. Had forced him back to life with her unique stubbornness and with her incapacity of letting go of him.

That had been the first time she had saved his life.

His before so pathetic imitation of a smile changed into a real one, chasing away the fear in his eyes which had kept hold on him since he had held Stella´s hand in that damn ambulance car as he remembered the events of the evening five years ago.

She had paid him a visit right after that intermezzo with the man and his gun had proven him that he had succeeded in his mission to numb his soul to death and all it had taken her to destroy his illusional freedom his dead-heartedness had caused him, had been eight words and one single tear which had slowly run down her left cheek.

"I lost her too, Mac," she had said to him instead of a greeting. Her voice, although a bit shaky round its edges, was stern and strong and had allowed no objection. With those words she had strode past him into his living room just to turn around on her heels as she arrived in the middle of the room to face him.

He had hesitated to follow her. The fact that he hadn´t been scared of death any longer but scared to talk to his best friend would´ve amused him since he always had had that sensitive feeling for subtle irony if that part hadn´t been numbed like his pain had been. Maybe he had known instinctively that this woman who had just invaded his apartment would be able to touch his so diligently buried emotions as soon as he had seen that determined expression on her face.

"I lost Claire too, Mac," she had repeated eventually. "And I miss her terribly, believe me. But you-" She had choked on her words then, her own strong emotions obviously taking over. "I saw that look on your face as that idiot threatened to kill you, Mac and I just came to tell you that I won´t lose you too. I won't allow you to give up."

'_I won't allow you to give up_.'

It had been those words that finally got through his shields of denial and the tear that had escaped her eyes had been enough to shatter the dam of his own.

And for the first time since Claire had died he had given in to his grief freely without trying to control his behavior or hiding behind his usual mask to save face and had cried in her arms, his tears mixing with hers in a salty float of pain which had soaked their clothes.

Today he had shed some tears too. Silent tears of pure relief cried in the impersonal waiting room of a hospital.

Earlier this day, back at that little bistro, her condition had been perfect. She had been a little tired maybe and starving for some blueberry cupcakes as he had hoped, but still perfect to him. He remembered her face, the expression of pure pleasure on it as she had taken her first bite of her cupcake he had just bought her. Maybe that made him a pervert, but he only bought those cupcakes to watch her eating them. That delight in her eyes was something he would love to be responsible for...

He had been caught in a rather inappropriate fantasy about all those lovely ideas he could imagine to place that look on Stella's face when that foreboding had hit him. Only seconds later Stella had nearly jumped over that table between them, sending them both falling to the ground. Not that he had minded her jumping him, but the plain horror in her eyes had scared the hell out of him.

Maybe she had fetched a slight glimpse out of the corner of her eye, a reflection in the window of that man who had pointed a gun at Mac or maybe it had been some kind of instinct that made her jump over the table to get him out of the line of fire.

That had been the second time she had saved his life.

He had left Stella alone with the doctor and a nurse who were taking care of her wound, before he had hidden in the impersonal anonymity of the waiting room where he had allowed the tears to fall, his head buried in his hands to keep them private. He had allowed himself five tears, no more. After they had run down his cheeks, he had wiped them away, as always needing to control everything, especially his own feelings.

Control had always meant a lot to him but the desire to keep some even seemed to rise if he felt himself getting emotionally involved with something. Stella getting shot definitely fulfilled that criterion.

As her blood had dripped from her back, soundlessly falling down to the floor, three of those red drops had landed on his right sleeve drawing a random pattern of sorrow.

He hadn´t changed his shirt till now, the now darkened spots of blood still reminding him of what he could´ve lost. How close he had been to losing her. Absently he touched his right sleeve with his left hand, leaning back into his comfortable chair, his eyes closed to shut out his surroundings out as well as his memory. The screen of his PC which should be filled with words about that event was still blank. Mac had never guessed that words could be so hard to find. Granted, he never had been a man of many words. Talking, honestly talking to someone, not the meaningless exchange of small talk, meant to reveal something about one´s self. Opening up to somebody else had also been something he never had been good at, because to be able to open up, you need trust. Trusting somebody meant giving up some control.

Mac had always thought that his determination to keep control had a lot to do with his trust issues. He had learned the hard way in his youth to only trust a few people and to always depend on himself if he wanted to get something straight. In his life he had only trusted two people, both women. The first one had been Claire.

His trust in her had depended on love. That love for Claire had been one of the purest emotions he had ever experienced. Nothing had befouled his feelings for her. There had been no guilt because he hadn´t been her boss or because he had felt he would abandon another woman if he allowed himself to love her. No, Claire he had loved freely. But the hazard of love like that was always that as much as it could lift you up, it could also destroy you.

Five years ago, after Claire had died, he had decided to die also to never feel that kind of misery again, to never feel so desperately alone and lost again as he had felt after she had died. And for a short time he had succeeded in that. For a few peaceful, meaningless days where everything had seemed so unimportant, so absolutely pointless, he had felt absolutely nothing.

But when he had sat next to Stella in that fast speeding ambulance, holding her hand in a strong grip as if his grip on her hand could hold her life with him, all the misery he had wanted to kill those years ago had been back. He had felt so helpless, so useless as he had watched the paramedic treat her wound, always shouting at the driver to hurry up even more because Stella had lost so much blood.

Three tiny drops on his sleeve... Her face had looked as pale as his white shirt he still wore. That contrast between her skin and her blood had been too heavy for him to bear, so he had stared at his hands during the whole drive. His hands which had covered her smaller one completely. And he had talked. There he had had words. Silly stupid words which had dropped from his mouth like her blood had dropped on the floor.

And now, everything worth living for lay in his bed, peacefully sleeping to recover from all the terror she had been through today.

After the doctor had treated her, Stella had demanded to go home. Of course he and the doctor had insisted she stay at least over night to make sure but Stella, being stubborn as always, didn´t want to hear any of it.

Since he, knowing her like he did, couldn´t see any way to convince her to stay in the hospital, he had settled for a compromise. He would allow her to leave the hospital, if she would agree to stay at his place and let him take care of her.

Although her glare had nearly frozen him as he had used the formulation '_allowing her'_, she had accepted his _'offer'_ to his surprise without further arguing.

He remembered how exhausted she had looked as they had arrived at his apartment; she even agreed to sleep in his bed at his first offer.

Opening his eyes, Mac straightened up in his chair, once again staring at the blank screen of his PC. Another peril you have to deal with, if in love, seemed to be risking to lose your ability to speak like a grown man.

With resignation he switched his computer off. Staring at the damn thing wouldn´t lead him to anything, only to a stiff neck. As if to prove that point, his neck made an unpleased sound as he tilted his head to the left, looking for some paper he could use to write on and for a pen . He would try to write that report old school. Somehow words always seemed to float out his hand more easily if he used a pen. Must be one of those silly psychological mysteries Sid could explain to him, if asked... Nah, better not ask him. Sid would only get sidetracked, randomly spilling out medical information and awkward facts about humans in general like he had done last week as Danny had asked him-

Sighing heavily, Mac interrupted his own mind-rambling. As much as he hated to delve into the situation by reliving it through his report, he had to get it done.

After he had arranged the pad in front of him, so he would easily have access to it, Mac tried three pens before he finally found a working one. He struggled hard to find the first sentence but once he started he couldn´t stop, as if writing suddenly had become an act of catharsis.

When he finished writing, he read everything though then he dropped three closely-written sheets into the trash basket right next to him. His catharsis by all means revealed more about himself than he was willing to share with Sinclair.

Two hours later, Mac stood in the doorframe of his bedroom, trying to catch a glimpse of that sleeping beauty in his bed.

The truth was: Five years ago, Mac Taylor had been dead. This morning he had wished to still be. But now, watching how the gentle moonlight threw little reflections of silver on the brown curls of the woman who saved his life twice already, the only thing he felt through his tiredness-numbed body was gratitude for being able to experience this very night.

* * *

A/N: This story is the most serious thing I have written in a long time (I guess some of you understand now even better why I had to blow some steam off with writing "Easter-surprise" xD) so I would love to hear your comments on this.


	2. Risk

_**Risk**_

Stella Bonasera had always dreamt of Mac Taylor. Since they had met eight years ago, she had seen in her dreams clearly what before had only been a blurry shadow of the most important man in her life.

The man for whom she had risked her own life just yesterday.

The same man who had obviously written and trashed those papers she just held in her hands, sitting behind his office desk like he must´ve last night.

The same man who left her alone in his apartment to buy some needed stuff to cook her some chicken soup.

A smile spread over her face as she recalled his sheepish look when he had tried to explain to her why the best thing to recover fast after getting shot was to eat some chicken soup. Mac could be so sweet sometimes. Especially when they both knew his arguments didn't make much sense like eating soup to heal a gunshot wound.

He had been so sweet to her yesterday. And demanding. Her smile brightened as she recalled how forcefully he had offered, no had _insisted_ yesterday that she should either spend the night at the hospital or at his place because he would not allow her to stay alone that night. His voice had been stern and strong, leaving her no doubt that he would stick to his words and carry her to his apartment by himself. If she hadn´t still been so shocked from all the events of the day and weakened from her blood loss, she would´ve torn his head off for his bold orders. But his hands had been shaking and his eyes had looked so haunted, mirroring her own feelings so well and so she had accepted his offer to stay at his place.

Probably one of the best decisions she ever had made.

When else would she have had the opportunity to wear one of his old shirts, still smelling slightly of him, while she slept in his bed?

Besides, she would´ve missed that soft, caring side of him he had revealed yesterday.

Normally they weren´t exactly the type of people who needed much comfort. Yes, they relied on each other, they hugged if they knew that the other had a bad day, they talked but that was nothing compared to the proximity they had shared last night. They both were too strong, too stubborn, too independent to rely on somebody else, but yesterday...

He had made her tea. She didn´t really know why but he had. Nearly ten cups full of hot tea of which she had drunk barely two. Maybe he had used the same logic there as he had to justify the chicken soup.

And he had touched her nearly all the time before she had gone to bed. They had watched a movie which she couldn´t remember in his living room, sitting next to each other on his couch and he had taken her hand and had held it nearly a whole hour while he focused his gaze on the television. Then, when he had realized what he was doing, he had let go of her in a flash, jumped up and made her the eighth cup of tea.

Maybe one hour of holding hands didn´t seem that much proximity to normal people, but to her it had been important. It was not that much, sure, but it was a symbol of their connection, their psychic bond they had shared since they had met and which had grown even stronger today.

But she admitted, as she had wrapped her fingers around the warm mug, her hand still missed his warmth.

Truth was: She enjoyed their bond, but she had loved to hold his hand too. She had loved sleeping in his bed, surrounded by his scent and his presence. He had watched her sleep, she knew, she had felt his eyes on her. She had just loved to feel his arms around her too.

And today, still dressed in his old clothes, she had found those paper sheets in his trash, filled with his handwriting when she had collected the cups still filled with tea and shared everywhere in his apartment.

Yesterday´s events must have really gotten to him, if he even placed a cup filled with peppermint tea on his fax machine.

After she had picked this cup up, her gaze had fallen into his trash can, catching a glimpse of those papers which caught her attention immediately.

And now she sat here, a tablet with five cups of cold tea she had found at the craziest places right next to her standing on his desk.

With sentimental tears burning in her eyes, she read the lines a second time, whispering every word out loud as if hearing them would get her mind to understand them better.

"_I´m used to see her die in my dreams," _stood there in a white sheet of paper, written in Mac´s own unique hand._ "I have these nightmares of seeing her die in my arms because someone shot her. They've haunted me ever since I hired her to work with me and I learned to live with them. I think I even did pretty well. I didn´t fuss over her, whenever we were on a crime scene, I could work next to her for more than half an hour without glancing at her to assure myself she was still alive. When we got into gunfire, I could suppress the urge to grab her and hide her away from all this craziness._"

Nightmares...

An ironic chuckle escaped her throat like a gasp.

She had had nightmares about losing him ever since they met too. Nightmares of not seeing him return from one of those few cases they didn´t take together or nightmares about seeing him die.

As that stranger had tried to shoot him yesterday, she had hoped for a few tiny splits of a second that all that would be just one of these screwed up dreams which haunted her in her sleep. That it had been just another surreal situation her mind had created to deal with the everyday fear of losing him. Because, come on! One minute he had smiled at her while he had handed her one of her favorite cupcakes and she had thought how much she loved that half-sided smile of his, and the next moment she had thrown herself over the table to take a bullet for him. A surreal situation even Dali would´ve found impressive.

But it hadn´t been a dream, no it hadn´t been. The ache in her shoulder reminded her how close she had come to losing him. But the ache in her shoulder was so much better than the fear in her heart.

The last time she had felt this particular fear that intensely had been the third month after Claire had died. Yes, after she had died. Before Claire had died Stella hadn´t feared losing her. Her mind had never imagined that something like 9/11 could ever happen, so no, she never had feared losing Claire. She had just lost Claire without any warning. Without any foreboding, that was why losing Claire had nearly torn her apart and she had needed all her strength to put herself together. And after she had healed herself enough to see what was left for her to live for, that fear had overwhelmed her.

As that stranger had looked Mac in the eye five years ago, pointing a gun to his head, it had overwhelmed her, holding her heart tight and making it difficult for her to breathe. It hadn´t been the gun, the actual danger he had been in, it had been the look on Mac´s face that made her finger tremble in fear. That look on his face that told her that he had been totally aware of the fact that his life had been at risk and that he just didn´t care.

It had been that look that had told her, once again, that her fear had come too late, that she might have already lost him and that this time, she hadn´t just seen all the warnings, which had been there like she recognized now. That emptiness in his face had been there since Claire died.

Later that night, when he had cried in her arms, her own tears dropping on his shirt, the fear had gone but her heart had been aching...

Clearing her throat, Stella focused on the letter again.

"_I controlled my urge to protect her so she was able to do her job."_

Reading this line made her smile. A real one this time, a smile without any irony or sarcasm in it.

He controlled his urge to protect her... Yeah, that was why he always forced her behind him whenever they entered an unsecured room

Ok, maybe there was a _little_ irony in her smile.

"_She´s good at it. At her job. Detective Stella Bonasera is one of the best detectives I´ve ever known so far. She is capable of noticing every tiny detail in her surroundings and drawing her conclusions from them. A man tried to shoot me, but Detective Bonasera jumped into the line of fire, took the bullet for me and so saved my life. She was wounded, nearly bled to death. If the ambulance hadn´t been so fast I would´ve lost her. She would´ve died."_

Tears were streaming down her face now. Stupid tears wiped away with an impatient hand.

She knew crying was ridiculous. She had no reason to. Her shoulder blade still hurt, yes, but physical pain failed to bring her to tears since she had been seven years old and her so-called elder "sister" had drowned her doll in the toilet, holding its head under water while flushing so the formerly blond but already dirty gray curls of her doll danced in circles the toilet bowl. She had told the younger girl, if Stella would ever talk to one of those nice people who came to the orphanage then she would find out if brown curls would twirl in the water just the same. A week later, after they had found out that brown curls did indeed twirl just the same, Stella had decided that the only water on her face would come from the outside.

And now, she sat here in Mac´s chair crying and felt better than she had for a very long time.

"_She nearly died because of me. Every time I think about it, it hits me like a truck. She risked her life for me today. That sentence is so wrong I can´t even find a fitting metaphor for it."_

More tears falling, soaking the sheets of paper she held tightly in her hands, blurring the ink.

Risking her life for him...

Yeah, that was what she had done yesterday.

When she had caught that reflection of that stranger pointing a gun at Mac, she hadn´t even noticed that she had jumped into the line of fire, she had just moved by instinct. Ironically she had felt relief as the bullet had hit her. No relief that she just had been shot in her shoulder, no relief that she herself would survive, only relief that Mac hadn't been hurt...

What did that tell her about herself?

"_The shooter was the only son of a man I arrested for killing a woman here in NY five years ago. Last week his father had been executed in California for the murder of two other women there. I can only assume he wanted to take my life in revenge for the life of his father. Instead of killing me, he nearly killed the woman who makes my life worth living. The woman who brought me back to life after I lost Claire."_

Claire.

Her best friend, her sister in mind, her first family.

Since she had been that lonely little girl growing up in that orphanage she had dreamed of having a family of her own one day, she had dreamed of that day she would build her family up with. When she had met him and Claire so many years ago she had caught the first glimpse of how a real family could be. After a year, this glimpse had already grown. And when Claire had died...

When Claire had died and Mac had cried in her arms three month later, filled with so much grief and her heart had ached, Stella had caught a glimpse of the love she already had felt for that man in her arms.

"_And now she´s lying in my bed and I know for sure I won´t dream this night, because I won´t waste a minute with sleeping when I could also watch her breathe."_

Oh, how much she loved that man who wrote that.

Love...

More tears were coming, welling up in her eyes.

Stupid silly tears.

She smiled under them.

Love.

She loved him. Not only as the true friend he had always been to her but also as the man she could picture herself growing old with, like sitting next to each other on a bench and holding hands old.

At least she could admit this to herself now. She, Stella Bonasera, loved Mac Taylor, for whatever it was worth.

She had never been a person who fell in love easily. Neither had she ever been the kind of person who trusted others easily. Loving always seemed too dangerous, too risky to her, because to love always held the risk of losing someone loved in it.

Maybe it was time to take a risk.

Maybe she should stop dreaming. Maybe she should finally go for the real thing.


	3. Hazard

_**Hazard**_

Love was a hazard.

Carefully carrying the two paper bags full of groceries, Mac drew aside to make room for the woman with the twin-buggy who walked toward him on the sidewalk. Sometimes it was amazing how automatically a body could react to its surroundings even if its mind was making its way through something much more difficult than just traffic.

On a normal day, Mac Taylor wouldn´t waste much thought on his love life. Basically, because his job kept him too busy than to care about anything else than solving crimes . At least that was what he kept telling himself since Claire died - that he was just too busy for love. That his job fulfilled him, that he was satisfied with his life like it was and, of course, that he wasn´t lonely at all.

Because love was a hazard. Something you couldn´t control, which could push your heart around like a blizzard, which could throw your body in the air to play with it like the wind with a leaf.

And yesterday he had learned the hard way, that love will get to you whether you deny it or not. It didn´t play a part if you commit that love. You could lie to yourself as much as you like, you could keep telling yourself that she is just a friend, that you don´t care which man she dates as long as she is happy. You could tell yourself that your urge to protect her isn´t stronger than your wish to protect every other member of your team. You could pretend that you don´t need her although you miss her whenever you´re not next to her. But at the end of the day all those lies wouldn´t change anything. You would still feel the same about her. He would still feel the same about her and whenever he was unobservant for only a few seconds his hidden feelings hit him full force, crushing him under their weight like they had when Stella had taken that bullet for him.

He loved Stella.

Mac nearly bumped into a tall black man wearing a black trench, as he suddenly stopped right in front of him, because the traffic light in front of him was red. Disbelievingly Mac shook his head.

Love was a hazard indeed.

He had been so caught up into his thoughts that he hadn´t even realized how close he had been to crossing a busy street. Being struck by a car was the last thing he needed right now.

Because he loved her and yesterday he nearly lost her and he freaked and now she was waiting for him in his apartment, wearing one of his shirts, because her blouse had been covered with blood and yesterday he had nearly lost her. And he loved her and he wanted her to stay in his apartment forever, because this way he could keep an eye on her and she would be safe and he wouldn´t freak out like he did because he wouldn´t ever have to watch her getting hurt again and he loved her and wanted her to wear his clothes every day so everybody else could see that he loved her and would know that she was his, but she wasn´t and she would leave him and his clothes and his apartment because she didn´t love him, not like he loved her. And she would be out there vulnerable and she wouldn´t allow him to protect her because she hated to be saved and-

Being struck by a car was the last thing he needed right now. His mind was already a mess, he didn´t need his body to follow suit. The crowd around him started to move again and Mac followed, losing himself in his thoughts again, while he walked down his street to his apartment.

He loved Stella.

And now, since lying to himself to make it easier him to bear with it was no longer an option, he needed to find a way to handle it.

His heart started to race, as if nodding in agreement, when he saw her awaiting him at his doorstep.

She stood in his doorway, holding the door open for him, her left hand on the doorknob and her right one holding some sheets of paper. Mac sighed. It was so typical of her! She was still recovering but already doing some paper work.

"Shouldn´t you stay in bed?" he asked, concerned, although he couldn´t suppress a smile. The fact alone that Stella, his Stella, was waiting for him to return was enough to make his joy pour out of him. He knew he shouldn´t interpret too much into it, he knew he couldn´t keep her, that she would leave to live her own life again as soon as she had recovered. But right now she was there, standing in his doorframe, her hair tousled, her face still pale but her eyes sparkling and waiting for him and he couldn´t help but smile.

"Nice to see you too," Stella replied, grinning briefly, then turned serious. "Why did you throw that in the trash?" she asked then, waving the paper sheets in her hand, which he now recognized as the report he had thrown away yesterday evening. In a flash his smile disappeared, leaving him behind not knowing what to say.

What would be an appropriate answer to that? That he hadn't liked the style he had written it in?

The look on her face told him she had read it already so she wouldn´t buy that lie even for a second because she already knew the truth.

So Mac didn´t say anything, he just passed her by silently, making his way to his kitchen where he put the paper bag on the counter to unpack it.

"Why did you throw that in the trash?" Stella repeated after she followed him into his small kitchen.

His gaze focused on the bright orange carrots in his hands. He knew he held them too tightly and should place them into the fridge for later use, but he couldn´t bring himself to move. He knew also, he should face her and tell her the truth so they could get over the embarrassment that surely would follow. He already could picture her shocked face when he would tell her that he loved her. Their discomfort while they would figure out how to move on after his confession... "You could´ve died." he uttered instead.

That was true. She could´ve died and he freaked and that was why he wrote the report and poured his feelings into it like the silly mad man in love he was.

"Mac?" Stella frowned at his answer. That hadn´t been the answer she had expected. She had hoped he would say something like _'I love you but I couldn´t tell you so I had to write it down'_. Of course that hope had been utopian. Of course she should´ve known that Mac was far too complicated to admit something like that so easily... Well, but a woman could hope, couldn´t she? But now, as she watched him unpacking those stupid paper bags just to avoid her, it occurred to her that he wouldn´t make it easy for both of them. The tension in his shoulders and the tight grip around the carrots in his hand told her that. Why was he acting so repellent? Had she misread his report? Had she only seen what she had wished for?

"Why did you throw yourself into the line of fire?" he asked eventually, still facing the vegetables.

She wrapped her arms around herself to suppress a shiver as the memory played itself out in her mind again. "If I hadn´t you would be dead now."

Finally he looked her in the eyes, locking his gaze with hers. "That´s my point."

"Excuse me?"

Avoiding eye contact again, he remained silent, but one carrot broke in his hand under the pressure of his grip. Now really worried, Stella stepped next to him.

"Mac, put that down, please." Unfolding her arms, she placed a hand gently onto his shoulder to gain his attention. "Look at me. What´s that all about?"

"You nearly died because of me." He stared at the broken orange carrot in his hand before he let it fall onto the counter.

"Mac, that wasn´t your fault.-"

"I don´t want you to ever save my life again." he said sternly, shaking her hand off and stepping away from her, using the carrots as an excuse once more as he carried them to the fridge. "Not like that. It´s not worth that." He spoke into the cold air of the open fridge which brushed over his skin.

As if freezing, Stella wrapped her arms around herself again. "That´s not your decision to make." Her words were as certain as his.

"It´s my life. I don´t-"

"It´s my life too, Mac," she cut in quickly. "And it´s my decision to make who´s worth risking it for."

"Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?" he snapped, while he turned to face her again with anger sparkling in his blue eyes.

"Don´t change the subject." She felt how he seemed to slip further and further away from her even if he was just a few feet from her. Her shoulder started aching again. "Why don´t you understand?" she asked helplessly.

"Understand what?"

_'That I love you and that if I even see the slightest chance to keep you from getting hurt, I would always go for it' _She gulped, afraid that her confession would only scare him off. He already looked as if he was just waiting for the right opportunity to escape from this situation, this discussion, from her... "You´re in my dreams too." Even under these words he flinched. Before she knew what she was doing she walked over to him, her longing to touch him becoming too strong to bear. "I nearly lost you yesterday, Mac."

He opened his mouth but she hushed him with one of her long fragile fingers lingering on his lips. "No, let me... If I hadn´t..." she struggled for words but feeling his skin under her finger soothed her. She took a deep breath before she stared fresh: "If that bullet had hit you, it would´ve killed you... Didn´t you ask yourself why I agreed so fast to stay at your place last night?"

Unable to say anything he just stared at her.

"Because I wanted to be near you. You-" She wanted to continue, but his shaking head stopped her.

"Stella. You scare me." His voice trembled.

"I beg your pardon?

"You scare me, Stella. To be honest: You scare me more than anything else in the world."

"Oh... I..." Startled, Stella didn´t knew what to say.

"I´m scared I'll lose you." His gaze was fixed on the tiles on his kitchen floor. "I´m scared you'll die during work, that I'll lose you like I lost Claire which would kill me. I´m scared you'll find a man you could be happy with which is insane because I want for the most in the world that you´re happy even if you need someone beside me to get there but I´m scared I'll lose you. I´m scared that you'll find out you´re so high above me, that I don´t deserve you, that you'll stop keeping up with all my crankiness and leave me and you scare me because... I never felt for someone like I felt for you. Not even for Claire..." he gulped uneasily, finding the right words and saying them out loud was probably the hardest agenda he'd ever had. "When…when I lost her, I nearly died but you brought me back to life and... Sorry, I..." He shook his head. "I nearly lost you yesterday, Stella. I love you too much to lose you."

For the second time that day, tears were streaming down her face, but she couldn´t care less. "You´re my best friend, Mac," she spoke up, her emotions nearly overwhelming her.

Her voice was barely a whisper but the sound of his breaking heart rang in his ears. "I don´t mean just as a friend Stella, I mean-"

She shushed him once more with one finger placed on his mouth. "No, please let me finish this before I lose my capability to speak." He nodded slightly, his lips brushing her finger during that movement and causing her to shiver. "Mac, you´re my best friend, you´re the only real family I´ve ever known. And yesterday I wanted to be with you so I could assure myself with my own eyes, that all I lost yesterday was some blood. You know why I slept so peacefully last night? Because your scent filled my nostrils every time I took a breath and reminded me that you´re still here with me. I need you to be here with me, Mac and..." She inhaled deeply as Mac captured her hand with his, pressing a gentle kiss against her palm. His eyes were watery. He didn´t cry, of course, but a single tear escaped his left eye and rolled down his cheek.

The same love Stella had heard in his voice and his words before was now written all over his features, making her heart skip a beat.

"I love you," she said then, her words leaving no room for doubt. "I love you, Mac Taylor. You´re my best friend, my family and the only one I want to share my life-"

He sealed her mouth with a gentle kiss, nothing more than his lips lingering on hers oh so softly. Interrupting her speech was rude, but he couldn´t resist. Their lips barely touched before he drew back leaving them both staring at each other and lacking for words but with sparkling eyes.

Yes, love was a hazard, love could shake your bones and break you in half like an earthquake could rip open the ground and tear your world apart but nothing like love could make you feel this good either.

So Mac bent forward to kiss Stella again, longer this time, at his own peril, risk and hazard.

**The END**

**

* * *

**

"_We have a natural right to make use of our pens as of our tongue, at our peril, risk and hazard." __Voltaire_

_

* * *

  
_

A/N: A big fat THANKS again to all those who reviewed to the last chapter. I hope you liked this last one too and leave me a little comment again.

NEWSFLASH: The CSI:NY-Fanfiction-Awards started again. You can find the link to the forum on my profile or you could just check out the CSI:NY-Forums to find it yourself xD (Uhm... just one little suggestion: Review before you leave? Remember, it´s what keeps your author posting. - And no, I´m not weird just because I talk about me in third-person. I´m just practicing for the day I will rule the world.... xD)


End file.
